


What Happened to Hardison

by anyothergirl415



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one time in which Hardison was shot and everyone else was left to deal with the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happened to Hardison

-= Hardison =-

Technically, Hardison shouldn’t even be here. This wasn’t in his job description, so to speak. But hell, if he had a dollar for every time _that_ was the circumstances, he’d be... a whole lot richer than he was. Which was saying a lot. What? Hardison had some wealth, he was proud of that fact.

Anyway, here he was, sliding along the wall of a corporate building, trying to be all Eliot. That was the game he played with himself, whenever he was filling in on various roles on cons. He pretended to be Eliot - not that he’d ever tell anyone - because Eliot was strong and badass and not scared of anything. He was maybe a little like Hardison’s big brother or something. Even picked on him the same way.

“Hardison, damnit, are you even listening to me?”

Speaking of Eliot, the deep voice rumbling in his ear piece suggested Hardison was doing the very thing that usually kept him from the front lead of a con. Sometimes he just sort of zoned out. Maybe it was his geek brain or something.

“Hardison, listen, focus!”

Something like a laugh fell muffled from Hardison’s lips and he pushed forward, sliding further along the wall. “Shut up Eliot, I’m working.”

“Clearly not hard enough. Are you in the office yet?”

Hardison flicked the edge of his collar and huffed. “Anyone ever tell you, you’ve got a real tight ass complex?”

“Hilarious, Hardison, you’re a real stand up comedian.”

“At least I’ve got-” The words caught somewhere in Hardison’s thoughts and this time it had nothing to do with zoning out, or his brain focusing on what codes to hack or programs to work through.

No. This had a lot more to do with the gun pointed at his chest. And the man way larger than Eliot who was smirking like Hardison was the prize in the Cracker Jack box.

“Ah shi-”

-= Eliot =-

Didn’t matter how many years Eliot had been out of the killing business, there were some sounds he’d never forget. The crack of a gun shot? That was definitely one. The hard thud of a body on the floor? Another one.

Eliot was in movement before he could think because that was the way it worked. Find the source of a problem, track it down, fix it. Eliot knew exactly what this particular problem was but he couldn’t break it down to something real because he couldn’t except the idea of what he knew had already happened.

The door crashed hard against his shoulder and Nate’s voice was in his ear, asking what had happened. Eliot didn’t stop to answer. He took the steps three at a time to get up seven floors as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t until he rounded the corner - winded, just barely - and saw the familiar body sprawled on the floor that the reality slammed him in the gut.

Hardison. Shot. In the chest - judging from the blood staining the light blue of his shirt front. _Fuck_.

“Hardison,” Eliot hissed and slid on his knees down the hall to crouch over the motionless body. Quick glance up, the shooter was gone, and Eliot pressed the heel of his palm hard against the rush of blood. “Damnit, Hardison, wake up. Come on. You can’t do this to me man, who- who’s gonna fix my damn phone when it throw it at the wall? Who’s gonna remember my passwords?”

The man coughed and twisted, blinking up at him, and it wasn’t that surprising that he smiled weakly. “Keep tellin’ ya, write ‘em down.”

“Shut up.” Eliot managed a weak smile and pressed a little harder on the wound.

“Eliot! Wanna fill us in already?”

Oh right, Nate. Eliot had kind of forgotten about the man screeching in his ear. “Hardison’s been shot. Nate, you gotta call paramedics. I don’t think, he’s not gonna make it.”

-= Parker =-

Hanging upside down was a whole lot of fun. Parker could probably spend the good majority of her life with the harness around her waist and her hair hanging down in waves and she’d be okay with that. It was safer too, she was in control.

Not like was now. The stealing a car thing, speeding through the city, trying to ignore Eliot’s voice echoing through her mind. _He’s not gonna make it_.

What would she do without Hardison in her life? It was a careful balance, the fragile fold of their group, and sometimes Parker didn’t think she could handle it. Maybe she wasn’t meant to belong in a fold. Maybe she wasn’t meant to be in love, to be loved.

But she did, love, and she was, loved. And that one person who made her feel a million things she’d never felt before, never thought she could, was laying in a hospital bed somewhere maybe not even alive anymore.

So she left the driver’s side door open as she pulled into the hospital, only vaguely remembering to slip the car into park. Someone would find the stolen car, that was alright, Parker didn’t care so much.

She ran through the hospital past the nurses calling out and the various trays and what not cluttering the hallways. They should keep hospitals cleaner, obviously. Parker had places to be. Somewhere important to be.

Sophie was just outside the hospital door and Parker collided with her, gasping in a shocked breath as she struggled to see around the woman and into the room. Parker could see the dark locks of Eliot’s hair and a form under the blankets and she caught on a sob because this wasn’t the way things were supposed to be.

Hardison was the one who held her up, kept them all together, like super glue or the right knot on her harness. He kept her sane, or her brand of sane, and he wasn’t supposed to get shot because the computer was a safe place.

“He’s supposed to be the one getting shot!” Parker pointed past Sophie’s shoulder at Eliot, finally shoving into the room and getting closer to the bed. “You’re supposed to protect him.”

“I’m not Spiderman, Parker,” Eliot huffed and rolled his eyes or played with his hair, whatever it was Eliot did when he got all... huffy. “I can’t always save Hardison’s ass when he does stupid things.”

“He was following Nate’s orders, probably trying to save _you_ ass,” Parker shot back and crossed the room. It seemed like a good thing that Hardison was laying in a bed, hooked up to machines that were beeping and monitoring things. Not dead. That was important. “Hardison should stay in front of a computer, I need him around.”

“He can handle himself. He did just fine now.” Eliot gestured to the bed, glaring at Parker a moment later. “My boy can hold his own.

“He’s _my_ boy and you got him shot!” In case Eliot wasn’t taking her seriously, which wasn’t that uncommon, Parker reached out and punched his shoulder.

“Don’t I belong to myself?” Hardison grumbled sleepily on the bed, giving Parker a smile that made all her insides light up in relief. “Hey girl, when’d you get here?”

“Just now.” Parker dropped down and hugged him hard enough to make him groan. “Don’t get shot again.”

The familiar curve of Hardison’s hand over the back of her head had Parker relaxing even more into his warmth. “Not planning on it.”

She could have stayed there, in the heat of the moment, because it was safe and warm and comfortable in a way things weren’t really very often. But then Nate was coming in and clearing his throat and Parker withdrew so she wouldn’t cry or something.

“Parker? The Civic out front, you know you’ll have to take that back, right?”

Parker grinned as Hardison’s fingers slipped through hers. Totally worth it.

~End  



End file.
